


Sworn to Carry

by W_H_4_T



Series: Blessings of Mara [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Awkward Crush, Blood and Injury, Eventual Fluff, F/F, Goddamnit Lydia why are you so loud, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/W_H_4_T/pseuds/W_H_4_T
Summary: A Dragonborn's life is a dangerous life, especially when you're spotted by too many bandits.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Lydia
Series: Blessings of Mara [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161977
Kudos: 4





	Sworn to Carry

**Author's Note:**

> I waited what, 10 years to make a fic about Skyrim? Well, just like my Dragon age fics, better late than never eh.

Bretons were very small. That was probably why Zephyr was so good at sneaking; the compact little shadow-hugger could blend into air during the day. Oftentimes, Lydia would have to wait nearby while Zephyr did her thing, creeping around a room like a white wolf in a snowstorm. 

As was normal for their escapades, Lydia was once again told to stay put; her shield gripped tightly as she shook her bloody sword to clean off the droplets. They were in some bandit infested mine near Riverwood, clearing out the vermin for coin. 

Peeking around a doorframe, Lydia looked on as Zephyr continued slowly making her way around the room, a conjured bow kept taut and ready to split some skulls. Though she was getting antsy waiting while the bandits patrolled, Lydia forced herself to stay put, her jaw tightening as she watched the Breton crouch. Though Zephyr was a talented sneak thief, Lydia kept her own quiet reservations, favouring a physical confrontation while paying silent respect to such a deadly craft.

For a moment, Zephyr turned her head to look at the Nord, her silver eyes catching the torchlight as she gave a small smile, quietly mouthing something. 

_Watch this._

Drawing the ethereal blue bowstring, Zephyr took aim at a walking bandit, none the wiser of what was to come. There was no sound as the magic bow released a projectile, catching the criminal square in the eye. Turning back with a beaming smile in place, Zephyr raised her eyebrows, showing off her shot. Lydia gave an impressed nod, still unmoving lest the jangle of her armour alerted the rest of the cave.

For such a sweet lady, Zephyr sure was lethal. 

Lydia turned her attention back to the body watching the magick arrow fade back to Oblivion. All was not well with the Nord however as a flash of metal caught her periphery. Scanning the area, Lydia used her keen sight to sus out the glinting before seeing something hidden behind a cluster of barrels. 

She looked back to Zephyr who’d begun creeping again, unaware of the danger. Armour be damned, Lydia shot forward, her steel cuirass making a horrid amount of noise before grabbing the Breton, whisking her away from an arrow’s path. Right in the nick of time, the weapon lodged firmly in the ground where her head would have been. 

“Are you alright?” Lydia worried, her armoured fingers lacing tightly around Zephyr’s arm. 

“I-”, Zephyr started before raising her hand, projecting a deep blue shield of magick as another arrow clattered uselessly off the ward. 

Unfortunately, arrows weren’t the least of their problems. It seemed as though, with the vicious rattle of her armour, Lydia alerted the entire mine. From the darkened walls, bandits came crawling out, all voicing their surprise; the sharp scrape of blades could be heard as they drew closer. 

Another arrow fell against the shield, then another. Mara’s mercy, they were being overrun. 

“Zephyr,” Lydia ground out, counting the growing number of heads “We can’t take them all.”

"I know,” the Breton replied, her voice stoic but highly strung, “My Magicka is about to run out. I can’t summon another bow,” she peers down at her hide armour, “And I’m not exactly protected from an onslaught.” 

The blue ward began to fizzle as the stampede of bandits drew closer; arrows dotted around the pair like wooden weeds. If they did nothing, they would die, Talos, they were stuck and they very well _might_ die. Collecting herself, Lydia took a deep breath, focusing her mind from her crouched position before speaking.

“Do you trust me?” the Nord spoke, her eyes darting around, looking for an exit.

“Yes,” Zephyr responded immediately, her hands trembling from exhaustion, forcing the last dregs of magick from her system, “You’ve saved my life now and many times prior. Do what you must.”

Wrapping her arms around the Breton mage, Lydia held tight before speaking, “Keep that ward up for another second.”

A small firing squad let loose another volley of arrows which stopped against the shield; one punctured the ward, nearly catching Lydia by the ear. 

“Now,” Lydia quietly informed, hoisting Zephyr onto her shoulder before taking off in a sprint. 

It was damn hard to run in such heavy armour but years of wearing the gear made Lydia much faster than one would expect. Bouncing around on her shoulder, Zephyr hung on for dear life, her vision in a constant blur as she felt an armoured glove keep a vice grip over her hips. 

The bandits definitely noticed this tactic, changing their firing squad and assault team to try and cut them off; the scent of brimstone filled the Nord’s senses as a flaming arrow shot past her. Turning a corner, Lydia nearly skidded with Zephyr clinging to her back to avoid being thrown off. That little manoeuvre cost them a few seconds as the shieldmaiden began trampling her way across a bridge, sweat stinging her eyes; her legs and lungs burning.

From behind them, she could hear the war cries growing in volume, the metallic clinking of swords gaining on them. Through the dimly lit cave, Lydia could barely see where she was going, her body slowing down, her heart hammering, unable to run anymore but still pushing the limits of her body.

_We can’t die. I won’t let her die._

But the strain overcame the proud Housecarl, her knees buckling before collapsing into a kneel; her arms still tight around her Thane, unwilling to let go.

“I’m sorry.” the warrior confessed in between breaths, “That’s -that’s- as far as I can take us.”

Worming her way out Lydia’s grip, Zephyr sat in the swordswoman's lap, her hands cradling her sweat-drenched face. 

“Do you trust me?” Zephyr parroted, her voice barely audible over the sound of approaching bandits.

Holding tight to the Breton, Lydia nodded, her breath coming out in shaky pants as she attempted to regain her composure. 

“If I do not live-”

“You will. You have to.” Lydia demanded, her green eyes wide and frenetic.

The Breton held a crestfallen look, before removing her hands and then herself, moving away to stand, her arm’s trembling from adrenaline as she stood in front of Lydia, facing down the horde that sent stamping echoes across the cave. 

A small army.

Taking a deep breath, Zephyr closed her eyes, grounding her legs before a scream pelted from her throat, from the depths of her soul. 

**YOL TOOR SHUL**

A billow of flames tore from the small woman, engulfing the walls in searing flames, charring the group of bandits, melting the flesh off their bones. The smell was disgusting but the screaming was worse, blood-curdling shrieks of dying men and women ricocheted through the mines before being silenced by the dragon fire. Lydia watched the destruction with nary a response as the mage was silhouetted by shadow and flame; sporting power no one else but the Greybeards and Jarl Ulfric had. Zephyr didn’t stop spewing till all the bandits ceased to speak; collapsing on her knees, her eyes watering.

Through she was tempered in emotion like hardened steel, Lydia still got up on shaking legs, her mind reeling from the display of power. There was blatant worry bursting from within her as she watched Zephyr huddle in on herself, little sputters of pained cries eking from her weary form. She moved towards the fallen woman, ignoring the pile of smouldering corpses nearby. 

Lydia witnessed another horrifying sight as she stared in shock at the Breton.

Zephyr had her hands to her throat, a strong wave of Restoration magic funnelling into her skin as she repaired herself through choked sobs. Her throat was raw and red with rough, sticky patches of burned flesh starting from the base of her neck all the way up to her bottom lip. It was a horrible burn made more painful by the salty tears slipping down Zephyr’s face; her silver eyes reddened and her lips, quivering. 

Placing a comforting hand on the mage’s shoulder, Lydia withdrew a healing potion with the other, uncorking the red bottle and offering it to the mutilated Dragonborn. There were no movements made by Zephyr as she continued healing herself, mending her flesh till her Magicka reserves were tapped out. With quick hands, she took the potion from Lydia, downing the draught in two gulps as her throat glowed with fresh patches of new skin. 

“I-” the mage started before coughing slightly, her formerly charred vocal cords sputtering to life, “I learned this shout before I came upon Whiterun. The other parts still elude me so I took a chance.” Zephyr gulps to lubricate her dry throat, “There is a valuable lesson to be learned here,” she turns to Lydia, smiling despite her pained expression, “Never do more than you’re able as there will be a terrible price to pay.”

Lydia wore a reassuring look, keeping the overwhelming relief within herself that her Thane was healed, before squeezing the mage’s shoulder, “Still, you saved our lives with that move. You hurt yourself real bad to stop those bandits." she spoke with honesty, "I guess I owe you my life.”

Giving a small laugh, Zephyr's pain seemed less before she began wincing at the strain, “And I thank you for pulling me out of danger, Lydia. This makes us even, I suppose.”

There was a hum of approval from the Nord before she patted Zephyr’s back softly, “Ready to go?”

Clearing her throat, Zephyr attempted to get up, her legs wobbling before Lydia moved to stabilize her, bracing the Breton in her arms once more. 

“I appear to be ludicrously fatigued,” Zephyr muttered as her legs continued shaking, “Stendarr has truly blessed me with luck.”

Zephyr may seem humble but she still had a small bit of firey pride; made clear as she pushed herself from Lydia’s grasp, balancing on her quaking legs before collapsing once more like a newborn calf. 

Lydia offers the Breton a hand which is taken willingly, assisting the hobbling young lady before she nearly falls again; this time being her last. Scooped up like a pile of firewood, Zephyr is carried out the cave like some damnable damsel in distress; a comment she makes while thoroughly denouncing her helplessness.

They make their way to Riverwood where the sun hangs low to proclaim the evening, the barest hint of auroras beginning to paint the sky. The villagers say nothing as the Dragonborn is hefted towards the inn; Alvor quietly laughs as the powerful human settles into the ride.

Lydia on the other hand, wears a blush over her blood-stained face, silently cursing and thanking Mara. The Gods were not devious like the Daedric Princes but by the Nine, the Goddess seemed to be toying with her for never once giving alms to her altar. 

As she felt Zephyr’s breath against her neck, Lydia’s eyes widened, feeling her snuggle against her. 

Oh, Mara was _definitely_ making her pay with this tortuous little infatuation. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> Bye :)


End file.
